


found another feeling

by finalizer



Series: the effects of your life on mine [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Memes, they're trash and i am the garbage man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five examples of (relatively) peaceful cohabition: a (questionable) guide by Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	found another feeling

Carpooling is a rare occurrence with them. In result, so are Alexander’s loud morning passenger-seat jam sessions.

He and Burr drive to separate buildings every day, hardly see each other before dinner. Well, sometimes not even then; Alexander more often than not getting himself trapped in a fort of paperwork on the living room floor.

Point being, Alexander has shit taste in music.

Every once in a while, when the need arises (joint office meetings, lack of gas, Alexander being too whacked out from exhaustion to drive, et cetera), they settle for cramming into Burr’s car, bright and early, and navigating through the streets of DC before the sun even rises in the sky.

And it would all be fine and dandy if it weren’t for Alexander’s persistent penchant for playing the loudest, most autotuned pop songs the radio has to offer. Better yet, singing along.

Burr thanks his lucky stars and the heavens above that he hasn’t yet shot Alexander to shut him up once and for all.

 _Poker Face_ cuts to commercial and Burr takes the opportunity to dial down the volume knob and lean back into the driver’s seat.

He sighs, then: “You don’t sleep til four, grab a few winks, crawl out of bed and drain a jug of coffee _—_  and somehow you find the energy to sing louder than the goddamn radio.”

There’s a pause and Burr finds it hard to believe that Alexander is actually sitting still, in silence, contemplating what he’s been told.

Of course, he miscalculates.

“I mean, whose fault is it that I was up half the night?” Alexander says instead and, really, Burr walked right into that suggestive implication.

“That’s all you heard?”

“Yes, that’s all that matters, so that’s what I heard,” comes the self-satisfied response. “And now you get ready to hear some _Hotline Bling_.”

Alexander tops his announcement off with an enthusiastic hoot, turns up the music, and wriggles in his seat as the track plays.

The Potomac stretches to either side as they speed across a bridge and Burr wonders just how big the scandal would be if he swerved to the side and off into the water to silence Alexander’s off-key rendition. After a moment of deliberation he decides it’s not worth it _—_  he’d just put the down payment on the new car.

Burr halts at a red light and Alexander turns to face him, overly excited. He’s always _overly_ something or another.

“Dab when the beat drops.”

Burr crinkles his nose like the words caused him a personal offense. “I am not going to _dab_ when the _beat drops_.”

“Partner dance, Aaron,” Alexander all but begs, “so I need a partner.”

“I’m pretty sure dabbing doesn’t qualify as a recognized partner dance. Or any dance, at all.”

Bickering ensues, Alexander flails his arms around the limited space of the car, Burr screws his eyes shut and drops his head back onto the seat. Then, there’s horns blaring behind them and exceedingly polite drivers hollering at them to _get a move on, dipshits_.

They bypass White House security with Rihanna blaring from the speakers, earning not one, but two strange looks from the guards. Alexander is unruffled by the whole affair and Burr wants to learn how to give that little fucks.

Burr feels like a parent dropping their child off at school when he pulls into the parking lot and turns to Alexander as they undo their seatbelts.

“Six pm and you clock out. No negotiations. You get a cab home and you take a nap. No working until I get there and make dinner.”

For lack of a better description, Alexander is pouting. It really solidifies the child-at-school metaphor.

“Alexander, so help me God, if you ever want me to stick my dick in you again, you’re gonna do as you’re told.”

With that, Burr scrambles out of the car and shuts the door behind himself. He doesn’t look back _—_  let Alexander make his own big boy choices.

 

/

 

The thing about Aaron Burr is that he’s about as affectionate as a potted cactus, albeit warmer and less prickly. And more willing, if sentience is in the question. Those matters aside, he’s oftentimes a worse cuddling companion than the damned plant would be.

In his defense, before Alexander, he hadn’t quite had the opportunity to practice the noble act. Not that he desperately wanted to, not since Theodosia.

But Alexander, insistent and touch starved, had deemed no obstacle insurmountable, and swore he’d find Burr’s inner softie if it was the last thing he did. Oddly enough, sex was never a problem: Burr wasn’t the least bit reluctant to press bruises into Alexander’s skin.

Yet, it took a while for him to outwardly display more affection than simply resting his head on Alexander’s shoulder as they drifted off in front of the TV. Even then, it was undeliberate.

Baby steps, fleeting touches, and months of legitimate trust-building exercises later, they reached a consensus _—_  Alexander wouldn’t overdo it if Burr put in an honorable amount of effort.

“You’re purring.”

They’re sprawled on the couch: Alexander laying with his head in Burr’s lap, Burr’s fingers threading through his hair. It’s no lie that Alexander is emitting a sound akin to a satisfied purr.

There’s papers strewn over the coffee table, off limits to Alexander and his greedy workaholic hands.

“You’re warm, and you have magic fingers.”

The implication is not lost on Burr.

“Why, thank you.”

They’re silent for a minute, and the tension is palpable in the air as Alexander waits for the opportune moment to escape Burr’s calming caresses and drag him off to bed instead (preferably by his tie, makeouts optional).

Burr knows better than that. He senses the restlessness. “No, Alex.”

“No, what?”

“ _No_ ,” Burr stresses, “you’re not going anywhere. And I’m not going anywhere, either.”

Somehow, Alexander pulls free and sits up, swiveling around to face Burr, legs crisscrossed.

“I slept a whole five hours last night. Now, we’re gonna go to the bedroom and you’re gonna fuck me into next week. Please.”

Burr, stone faced, the dispassionate bastard, looks Alexander dead in the eye and retorts, “The thing about sleeping _—_  you do it every day. It’s not a selective pastime.”

“Please, I need your dick, and I need it now.”

Burr barely blinks.

To emphasize his point, Alexander hauls himself up and plops onto Burr’s lap before the latter even has a chance to protest. It’s a comforting and familiar weight, and Burr finds himself turning to putty in Alexander’s hands. Aaron Burr: impassive, detached, save for any occasion when Alexander’s hands are on him, equally gentle and scorching.

“You’re gonna snap,” Alexander taunts.

“Try me.”

Alexander shifts his weight forward, maximizing the friction, and loops his arms over Burr’s shoulders to lean closer. Instinctively, Burr’s hands flutter to Alexander’s waist, digging his thumbs into the soft skin beneath his shirt.

“Any second now.”

“Over your dead body, Alexander.”

“ _My_ dead body? The saying is ‘over my dead body’, not the other way around. Actually, it’s a pretty common misconception; though usually amongst the _—_  ”

“Okay, you win, _shut the hell up_   _—_ ”

Then, Burr’s lips are on his, and Alexander is grinning into the kiss, smugly content.

 

/

 

The media doesn’t exactly paint an accurate portrait of the Secretary of the Treasury. Sure, Alexander is portrayed as loud mouthed and overzealous, but not one news outlet has yet picked up on the fact that he’s actually a five year old trapped in a grown man’s body.

Burr, however, has a VIP pass to the whole show. He sometimes wishes he didn’t.

He’s in the middle of a meeting when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

 

 **_from_ ** _: Alex [11:43 AM]_

_check out this vine_

_https://vine.co/v/OjjBIwQTbXM_

 

 **_to_ ** _: Alex [11:46 AM]_

_I’m at work._

**_from_ ** _: Alex [11:46 AM]_

_pls it’s a turtle eating a strawberry_

**_to_ ** _: Alex [11:48 AM]_

_Later._

**_from_ ** _: Alex [12:03 PM]_

_okokok but this turtle eating a cucumber_

_https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHgBaeQxqcA_

**_to_ ** _: Alex [12:13 PM]_

_Stop sending me turtle videos._

**_from_ ** _: Alex [12:14 PM]_

_i can’t laurens keeps sending more_

Burr chooses to ignore the implication that none of the government’s officials get any real work done during the day. Instead, he pours himself another cup of coffee, smiling politely at Angelica as she breezes past from one office to another.

He doesn’t get how, in the name of all that is holy, he works his ass off, putting genuine effort into everything he does; yet Alexander is the one to hold tight to his prestigious position whilst exchanging vines with his coworkers. That’s just what tax payers’ money buys.

In all honesty, there’s an inkling of jealousy there: Burr envying Alexander’s ability to juggle legitimate work, and simultaneously tend to his vast social media presence. Not that Alexander sleeps, which could be a contributing factor to his endless supply of time.

He’s back at his desk, shuffling through piles of folders and files when his phone vibrates again.

 

 **_from_ ** _: Alex [12:59 PM]_

_here come dat boi. finally_

**_to_ ** _: Alex [1:00 PM]_

_What boy?_

**_from_ ** _: Alex [1:01 PM] +1 Image Attachment_

_laf. he’s fucken late. and it’s ‘dat boi’, not ‘that boy’ gdi aaron_

Burr frowns down at his phone, blissfully unaware of the difference between the two. He blindly swipes his hand across his desk to locate his coffee mug as he waits for the image to load.

Sure enough, it’s a picture of Lafayette entering the conference room _—_  with an immaculately tailored three piece suit, and voluminous space buns atop his head _—_  throwing finger guns up at the camera, and Burr wonders why the hell Washington hired any of these men in the first place.

 

 **_to_ ** _: Alex [1:04 PM]_

_I’m glad you’re all at work. Whether you’re actually getting any work done is irrelevant, though, I suppose._

There’s a lengthy silence and Burr instinctively worries, because Alex would wake up in the middle of the night to reply to a text. His responses never take more than a minute.

Worst case scenario, the White House caught fire and Alexander is finding himself too preoccupied with running for his life to tap out a text. Though, more likely than not, he’d still find a moment to livetweet the proceedings.

 

 **_from_ ** _: Alex [1:14 PM]_

_i’m gonna kill madison_

 

Burr glances up from his computer as his phone lights up with the message, and breathes a sigh of relief. A short lived victory, because he can’t idly sit around as Alexander commits murder not one block away.

 

 **_to_ ** _: Alex [1:15 PM]_

_No._

 

 **_from_ ** _: Alex [1:16 PM]_

_he upstaged me in front of gwash i’m gonna fuck him_

****

**_from_ ** _: Alex [1:16 PM]_

_fuck him up* shit sorry i ain’t gonna fuck him_

 

Burr doesn’t reply to that. He clicks his screen off and drops his head into his hands, counting down from ten, deep breaths and all. He has reports to examine, and he’s repeatedly distracted by that warm feeling in his gut _—_  because Alexander’s an idiot, but he’s _Burr’s_ idiot, and it’s so overwhelming that he wants to grin like a madman and ditch work, take a month-long vacation and spend its entirety in a hotel bed with Alexander.

A snort from the desk across from his tears Burr away from his Caribbean daydream and back to the bustle of the office.

It’s Angelica, of course, expression soft yet unreadable. “You two are disgusting.”

 

/

 

Burr’s sitting in his favorite armchair, scrolling through an online menu on his phone, Alexander pacing the length of the living room as he’d been doing for the past fifteen minutes.

“Domino’s has a buy one, get one half off sale,” Burr suggests, barely managing to get the words out before Alexander launches into another rant.

“Just a sec,” he says, somewhat acknowledging Burr’s words. “I just remembered this thing he did last week. I was talking to Washington in his office, behind closed doors and all _—_  you know what a closed door means, right, Burr? Don’t fucking come in? _—_ ”

Burr nods slowly, just to appease Alexander.

“ _—_  Right, so, the door’s closed, and Jefferson prances in anyway, like he’d been invited. Which he wasn’t. Like, what if Washington and I were otherwise occupied? I mean _—_  I’m not. We’re not _—_  ” Alexander clears his throat and composes himself. “Anyway, he walks in wearing that gross purple blazer, you know the one, and _sweatpants_ , of all things. He starts talking to Washington like I’m not even there, so I’m like, ‘Jefferson, do something useful with that big mouth of yours for once and shut it,’ and he has the gall to shoot me one of those filthy grins of his, like I’d just suggested he get on his knees and get me off in front of the fucking President.”

Alexander thankfully, blessedly, pauses for breath; he’s beginning to turn an interesting shade of pink. It only takes a few seconds for him to get going again.

“And he’s like, ‘I had an appointment,’ in that stupid accent of his, and I’m about to javelin throw a flagpole at him, but then Washington goes, ‘We’ll continue later, Hamilton,’ and he kicks me out. Just like that. No negotiations. And Jefferson blows a fucking kiss at me as I head to the door, and he waves like the little shit he is. Just, wow.”

Burr hopes to interject, to get a response in, but Alexander steamrolls on.

“Which reminds me of the time Eliza called me in a meeting, and it was important enough for me to pick up, and that fucker mimicked me from across the room the entire time. Like, it wasn’t even a good impersonation; all he did was make a damn fool of himself in front of the entire board. Sitting there, feet up on the table as we take a break, shoveling instant mac and cheese like there’s no tomorrow. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m getting so worked up over that bastard. For all I care, he could quit his damn job _—_  hell knows he doesn’t do shit anyway _—_  and fuck off back to his shithole farm in the middle of nowhere.”

He pauses and steals a sheepish glance at Burr. “Are you counting swears for the jar?”

Burr flashes a complacent smile. He prays Alexander ran out of Jefferson related criticism for the day. “Okay, so _—_  ”

“Oh, but this is nothing like the time he obviously _pretended_ to fumble with the espresso machine and spilled hot water all over his shirt, and literally made a show of taking it off in the middle of the hallway. And he’s fucking ripped, and I need mind bleach to get that out of my head, because he fucking _winked_ at me.”

Alexander keeps ranting, waving his arms in circles and making frantic, crude gestures. Burr, on the other hand, blocks out the babble and takes a moment to thank his lucky stars that Alexander hates Jefferson with all his heart, regardless of the guy’s physique. If he didn’t, Burr would have competition; and he’s no good at competing.

“Okay, but he tried that flirty shit of his on Peggy, too, and she slapped him, so that was definitely worthwhile. I mean, I’d get in trouble if I did that. Or Jefferson would find a way to use it against me.” He sighs deeply and keeps going, quieter this time, “All I want to do is make a real difference, but I can’t do that with his dumb afro blocking out the country’s bright future. He and his posse are holding me back and I have had _enough_.”

Burr finds himself staring at Alexander in resignation. “So, not pizza?”

 

/

 

That’s not to say they don’t fight. They do _—_  and when they do, it’s grand and awful.

It’s an early July night, hot and humid, and they start bickering over something as ludicrous as the broken air conditioner, and the next thing you know, they’re at each other’s throats, tearing skeletons out of each other’s closets and throwing the other’s past mistakes in their faces.

And it’s over as fast as it’d begun, but they’re both too stubborn for their own good to admit their faults.

Alexander ends up on the couch, furiously editing an essay. There’s a blanket sprawled over the armrest (useless: it’s 90 degrees outside, for fuck’s sake), implying his iron resolve to spend the night in the living room.

Burr takes the bed, because _he_ actually sleeps sometimes. But not without Alexander _—_  not without his routine goodnight kiss, the comforting presence at his side.

Minutes tick by, the neon red numbers on Burr’s alarm clock swimming in and out of focus, hours slowly dragging by: prolonging both their distress.

Alexander blinks the weariness from his eyes and picks up his phone, shooting off a quick text to Lafayette before turning back to scribbling red-penned comments on the margins of the paper.

 

 **_to_ ** _: Laf [3:34 AM]_

_im gonna be a zombie at work_

The reply is worryingly instantaneous. Alexander’s not too sure he even wants to know what the hell Lafayette is up to at this hour.

 

 **_from_ ** _: Laf [3:35 AM]_

_more so than usual?_

**_to_ ** _: Laf [3:36 AM]_

_yes. we’re fighting. i can’t sleep alone_

**_to_ ** _: Laf [3:36 AM]_

_u don’t need to say anything i’m just warning u about my zombie-ness. go to sleep laf_

 

 **_from:_ ** _Laf [3:38 AM]_

_sleep? how can i sleep when life is an illusion?_

****

**_from_ ** _: Laf [3:38 AM]_

_soon. first we both need a shower ;)_

 

Alexander sticks his tongue out like a disgusted preschooler and drops his phone onto the cushions. He doesn’t need details of his friends’ sexcapades.

 

 **_to_ ** _: Laf [3:39 AM]_

_spare me. gnight_

 

But it’s motivating, more so than not, the reassurance that it doesn’t take more a muttered, genuine apology to placate two sides. Lafayette and Laurens had been on the verge of throwing things at each other just hours prior, and now Alexander was getting the (unnecessary) inside scoop on their reconciliation.

Practically unconscious, he plugs his phone charger into one of the kitchen outlets on his way to the bedroom, tripping over his own hastily discarded shoes in the process.

He forgoes switching on the lights, familiar enough with the room in total darkness. Then, standing at the foot of the bed, he huffs and swallows his pride.

“Aaron, I’m a total jackass, and I’m sorry. Please, let me sleep here, I’m about to keel over and die.”

His words are clipped and hurried, and he knows well enough that Burr is awake despite pretending not to hear.

“Man, I know you’re not asleep. I don’t like the couch, and I can hear the fridge buzzing from there and it’s grating on my very frayed nerves.”

Eventually, Burr rolls over and squares Alexander with an amused look.

“You’re such a whiner,” he mumbles sleepily, and it shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.

“I’m tired. And I’m sorry,” Alexander repeats.

It takes a moment longer for Burr to get over his resentment, and his frown to soften and melt away. “I’m sorry, too.”

He kicks back the thin covers and shuffles over to the side, making space for Alexander, who almost cries with relief and tumbles onto the mattress.

Ten minutes later, Alexander finds himself on the brink of sleep, and he slides closer to Burr to wrap an arm around his waist.

Burr recoils immediately, grabbing Alexander’s hand with his own and shoving it aside.

Just like that, Alexander is wide awake. “I thought you weren’t mad?” he demands, tone accusing, because he does not deserve that kind of treatment following his heartfelt apology.

A sigh from Burr, then: “I’m not, Alex.”

“Then let me fucking hug you.”

“No.”

Alexander is relentless. “Why?”

That’s all it takes for Burr to flip over on his side to face Alexander. “Because it’s a hundred degrees in here, because you broke the air conditioner and forgot to call the maintenance guy. Remember?”

Alexander flushes. “I _—_  right. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

 _Tomorrow_ being a relative term: it’s a few minutes past four in the morning, both their alarms set to go off in a short matter of hours. But that’s just how it is. They’re still alive and kicking so they must be doing something right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> can u tell i love memes


End file.
